


Obsession

by Flyting



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Consent Issues, Creepy, Hux is Not Nice, Light Somnophilia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: Hux watches Kylo sleep.For the prompt: "You have no idea what you do to me."





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MapleLantern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleLantern/gifts).



“You have no idea what you do to me,” he sighs.

They had barely exchanged two words in the shuttle back to the ship, Hux instead directing most of his terse, barked instructions at the hastily-assembled crash team that was fighting to stabilize Kylo Ren’s erratic vital signs and get them out of orbit before the planet went critical.

Ren hadn’t thanked him. A little part of Hux felt like a fool for hoping that he would.

Ren’s private medical ward is quiet except for the faint hiss of the oxygen filters and the bass hum of machinery. They had pulled him out of a bacta tank hours ago but Hux had talked them into giving him a strong sedative when Ren kept picking at the scabbed-over wounds on his face and abdomen. His face is twisted into a little frown as he sleeps. Hux wonders if he has poor dreams.

The lights are low. Starlight from the viewport reflects in dim points off the pale of his eyes.

Stillness does not come easily to him. Not like it does to Ren, who can transform from violent action to predator stillness and back again in the beat of a heart. Hux has to work at it. Even now, exhausted and pale, with dark circles under his eyes like bruises, he would rather be moving. Standing here, in forced stillness, can almost feel his very atoms buzzing with it.

Ren shifts in his sleep, the thin sheet sliding against his bare skin, a muffled wet sound emerging from his throat, and all the little protons and electrons that make up Armitage Hux vibrate just a little faster in desperate resonance.

Silently he plucks at the fingers of one glove, baring his palm, which is damp with nervous sweat. Ren’s skin is warm and clammy as he lays his hand gently against the curve of his neck. His hands, which have always reminded him of pale spiders, are large enough that his thumb and forefinger brush Ren’s uneven jawline. The skin there under the pads of his fingers is rougher, scratchy with the beginnings of stubble. The lightest pressure and Ren bends for him, pliant in a way he has never been while conscious, tilting his head to expose the pale of his throat, and something in the soft obedience of the movement strikes Hux right between the ribs.

The fabric of uniform jacket creaks like new leather as Hux bends at the waist. Ren smells astringent and clean, like standard-issue soap and, faintly, like bacta. He swallows, his throat fluttering under Hux’s bare palm and Hux’s mouth opens, unbidden. The sound of his tongue flitting out over his dry lips is obscenely loud in the quiet medical ward, answered only by Ren’s steady breathing.

With the heavy stims they had given him, Ren would be unconscious for hours, but Hux wonders if there is still some part of him, that part that was connected to the Force perhaps, that is aware of what Hux is doing as he leans down to press his lips against the soft part of Ren’s jaw, just below his ear.

Ren isn’t the only one who knows how to take what he wants. To force someone powerful to bend for him. But he’s never had Ren’s advantages- he’s had to substitute cunning for what he lacked in strength.

His tongue flashes out, more daring and less cautious than the rest of him, to taste the salt-clean skin under his mouth. Ren’s hair is soft, curling where it’s dried, and little tendrils of it tickle his face as he rubs his nose against the soft flutter of Ren’s pulse. He’s so open, so bare like this. Even though it’s just his shoulders and neck visible above the blankets, it occurs to Hux that he has never seen so much of Ren- all these exciting soft hollows and pale expanses of him. Ren’s bare throat, normally hidden under his high-collar and unyielding mask, reminds him of the soft underbelly of some delicate creature.

If Ren were awake he would bare his slightly too-sharp teeth and close them around Ren’s pale throat like a threat, simply to show that he could. To see if Ren’s pretty dark eyes would flash with animal fear or if he knew, somehow- that deep in his bones Hux could never bear to be parted from him.

Hux thinks that Ren must know. Must see every desperate, adoring, grasping thing that scuttles around in his mind when they’re together. That has to be why Ren hates him so.

With his other hand, Hux reaches across Ren’s body. The impact wound on his side is still painfully tender, the thin flesh there barely knit together. It feels warm even through the soft cotton sheet and the leather of his glove.

With slow, gentle pressure he digs three gloved fingers into the skin at the perimeter of the wound.

Ren makes a pained sound even through the medication as he shifts on the cot, and Hux pulls back to watch as he brushes his bare thumb over Ren’s soft lips.

“Shh-hh,” he hushes him, gently. “It’s alright. I’m right here.”

A warm susurrus of breath flutters against his skin. Ren’s throat hitches. Hux’s eyes flit over his face, his throat. He doesn’t ease up the steady pressure of his other hand, curling his fingers into the edge of the wound where he knows the skin underneath the blanket is still shiny and new. Ren gasps, and Hux pulls gently at his fat lower lip to expose his crooked teeth.

Something glimmers in Ren’s dark lashes. Tears.

Hux leans down, delighted and enthralled, but before he can kiss them off of Ren’s pale cheeks the comm device on his belt chirps.   
  
His jaw clenches. 

“Hux,” he answers.

_“Approaching the Anoat sector, sir. Counselor Trevis already has a shuttle en route. It’s set to dock in bay nine within fifteen minutes.”_

“Understood.”

He straightens. Picks up his stray glove, where it lay discarded on Ren’s cot, and tugs it on. “I have to go. You rest,” he says, smoothing the blankets over his unconscious form. 

Before he leaves, he thumbs away the last glint of a tear from Ren’s eyes. “Shh, don’t fret. I’ll visit again later.”


End file.
